#Ice Man x reader

[yuugen-benni]

''A simples question, with many reactions''

How would BSD men react if you asked them to help you adjust your bra straps ?

Inspired by this post by Zhongrin

Characters: Dazai, Atsushi, Ice Man, Ranpo,

A smirk appears on Dazai's lips. He walks over to you making teases and bad lines. When he finishes he hugs you from behind and for the next 5 minutes kissing all over your body. His playful mode is active but he decides to turn off that ''seductive guy fame'' for few minutes and just watch from afar his beloved get ready;

It's hard to tell if it's Atsushi who's behind you if it's a tomato. His hand shakes a little as he adjusts the straps for fear of doing something wrong, but when you say thank you with a smile he sighs in relief and give you a small (but sweet) smile;

As a gentleman and a tall man, Ice Man approaches and gently helps you, always asking if it's tight or not, after giving kiss on the top of your head. You never understood how a man with so many secrets can be so soft, but the silence between the two of you was...comfortable;

Every time Ranpo hears you call his name he knows what you want and this time was no different. He walked into the room in his usual demeanor and quickly adjusted the straps, since he knows how you like it. He will charge kisses and especially sweets in return for helping you <3

[heyhotstuffs-blog]

(artist @JohannOfArt on twitter, I love their art SM)

This image gives me a lot of (BSD SB) Iceman x reader vibes

I can see a a fanfiction out of this tbh...

[theghooligan]

aemond one-eye “that’s-okay-they-can-die-for-my-aesthetic” targaryen:

[happy74827]

Contagiously Human.

[Brian Moser x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Killing was always the easiest part for him, but this… you… well, as fate would have it, that created a new problem for him. {GIF Creds: brothermoser}

WC: 1881

Category: Plot-Driven, Maybe Some Fluff/Angst…?

Someone asked me if I’d ever thought about writing Biney… and well, I decided to put my thought into actual words 🤷‍♀️

Just for some minor clarification, this is pretty much a “what if” fic in which Dexter does not end his life. This being said, I picture this taking place around season 5-6 ish.

『••✎••』

Hesitation.

The thing that makes or breaks a killer. The line that separates predator from prey. It's the pause between life and death, the time a man takes to make the decision, and whether he'll live to regret it or not.

He’s never had hesitation. Not once. In fact, he relishes in it; he finds peace in knowing that he can decide one way or another and be content with either outcome. It makes him a dangerous man, unpredictable, a ticking time bomb.

His baby brother, his blood, had the disease. The disease of being too much of a good person, feeling guilt, having morals, a sense of what's right and wrong. He was weak, he hesitated, and he wasn’t even aware of how much the disease was eating him alive until that Trinity Killer came around.

He was supposed to protect his brother, save him from himself, and show him the proper way of things. The way of survival. Of the hunt. But no, Brian wasn’t there to catch him. To stop him.

So, as all good brothers do, he’s here to fix him. To set him straight and rid him of the disease. Forever.

It's an easy task, really. His little brother is so trusting and caring that he'd do anything for the ones he loved. Why not start by showing him why he shouldn't?

Because clearly, the loss of his apparent wife wasn’t enough. He needed to understand, truly and absolutely, that the world would only disappoint him. It's a harsh lesson but a necessary one.

So, that led him to you. His brother’s friend from school. The woman, aside from Dexter’s poor excuse for a sister, that his brother actually cared about.

Just like him, you were naive. Trusting, too. Friendly to everyone, completely unaware of the monsters that hid in the shadows. His brother included.

You might’ve never killed someone, but with everything else, it was clear why his brother was so interested in you. He always loved the innocent ones.

So, the question was, how would he go about it? He could take you somewhere, but the element of surprise was an important factor. You had to believe you were safe and comfortable before he could make his move.

A Debra repeat? Or a more... Unique approach. He'd think about it, plan it out, and strike at the perfect moment.

He wouldn’t hesitate, after all.

When the day presented itself, the stars had aligned, and everything was just right; he made his move. It was noon, a warm Sunday.

You were in your little bookshop, reading one of the books in your free time. Business had been slow today, as most people were enjoying the weather.

You never saw him coming. He was the type to blend into the crowd, the type that you'd see once and forget about. The type you'd pass on the street without a second thought.

He had his ways, of course, and his way was simple. A simple, kind greeting. One that had your eyes lighting up as if you'd never seen another person before.

He was charming, handsome, the perfect man to lure you in. You didn’t stand a chance.

That's what led him here, picking up your fallen book and handing it to you, watching the smile that graced your lips.

A romance novel, of course. How ironic.

"Oh, uh, thank you. That’s very kind."

You smiled, a hint of blush dusting your cheeks. Far more tame than that Debra woman, thankfully. He didn’t have to fight back the urge to roll his eyes.

"Tea and romance? Can’t say I blame you." He pulled a gentle grin, one that had you blushing further, more so of embarrassment this time.

"It's the first of a series. A favorite, actually, I’ve been rereading it." You explained, holding the book to your chest. He didn’t miss the way your thumb rubbed over the spine, fond and gentle.

Just from that, he knew. He was going to have fun with you. “Believe it or not, I read the first one too. A few months ago, actually. It was quite the page-turner. The ending had me on the edge of my seat, I swear."

You laughed, soft and airy, and for a moment, he found himself smiling genuinely. His lie was working, and he couldn’t believe it was that easy.

"I've only heard mixed reviews on it.” You spoke, moving to place the book back on the shelf. "I'm glad to hear you liked it. Marienne’s death was hard, wasn't it?"

"Very." He agreed though it was a lie. He had to pretend he cared. "It was a shame; I really enjoyed the character."

"You did?" You raised a brow, surprised. “Most people didn’t. Given that she doesn’t even exist.”

Shit.

He cleared his throat, a slight pause. He was so blinded by the idea of finally getting to his brother that he'd forgotten.

You were a reader, an author; of course, you would know the ins and outs of the story. The characters, the plot, and every little detail. Why would you not?

First rule of hunting. Don’t get cocky.

"Alright, I admit. I've been caught." He gave a small shrug, his voice holding a hint of sheepishness. Maybe you’d fall for it. “I couldn’t help myself; I figured you wouldn’t appreciate my love for fantasy books."

"Fantasy?" You tilted your head, and he knew. You bought it. You were a sucker for fantasy; you didn't like it when others looked down on them.

"I'm a bit of a nerd. Guilty pleasure."

"I didn’t peg you for the fantasy type…” You raised your eyebrow, though a smile still rested on your lips—a look of amusement.

"Really? Most people can't seem to look past the collared shirt.

"No, it's not that. It's your aura." You shook your head, and now, it was his turn to raise his brow. What the hell did that mean?

"My aura?"

"Those books in your hands..” You nodded towards his bag, a small smirk pulling at the corner of your lips. "You're definitely not a casual reader. My guess is everything in there is a throwaway.”

"And that means...?"

"You're bullshit through and through. You don't like romance or fantasy. In fact, I think you absolutely hate it."

Oh. Oh, you clever thing. Now, he truly understood why his brother connected with you so much. You'd figured him out, and yet, you had no clue. You were clever, smarter than you let on.

"Alright,” He held his hands up in mock surrender. He was enjoying this; for once, someone could see through his façade. See his true self. It was a rush.

“If you’re so smart, what do I like then?"

"Hmm, let's see...” And just like that, you were off with him in tow. You were taking him along on a trip through the shelves, looking through the genres, searching and searching.

He was intrigued, his eyes locked on you, his ears drinking in the sound of your hums and contemplation. Your mind was running, spinning, thinking. You were truly in your element.

"Well, let's start with what I know. You like horror." You said, turning towards the horror section and picking up a book. "You seem like the type who enjoys the dark side of humanity and likes to see the bad guy win."

Damn.

He was almost impressed. Almost.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Eyes. They tell the most about a person. You’ve seen a lot, and it shows. I could tell just by looking at you. Your eyes are... Cold. Empty." You said, and it was then that he realized you were more observant than you appeared. Naivety might’ve not been a part of your personality, but trust was. You trusted a lot. Too much. “Are you a cop, by chance? You've got the whole detective thing going on."

"Prosthetist, actually." He answered, his hand reaching out and picking up a book at random. He wasn't a fan of fiction, not really. He preferred nonfiction; it was more realistic—less pointless details.

"Oh, wow, I was completely off. I didn’t expect that." You mused, looking up at him with those eyes. You had such an expressive face; it was amazing how easy you were to read. He could practically see the gears turning. How could he use this?

"Expected an axe murderer, did you?" He joked, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Maybe. Wouldn’t that be a twist?" You grinned a glint of amusement in your eye. “Speaking of, that’s probably what you like. Thrillers. Those kinds of stories are full of twists and turns. No one is who they appear to be. Kinda like you, hm?"

"Ouch."

"Sorry, am I being too honest?"

"No, I like it. Keep going." He was having fun. With Debra, it was exhausting. She was so stubborn, so headstrong, she never listened. It took him about three coffees just to have enough patience to deal with her sob story.

But with you, you were a breath of fresh air. He didn’t have to force himself awake or hide his boredom. He could just enjoy it, relish in the moment, and the fact that you were so easy to play with.

You pulled out three books: two thrillers and one horror. A classic and a new one. "These are what I recommend. Start with Primal Fear; that’s the one I believe you'll like the most. The first one might take you a while, but if you stick with it, the sequel will be worth it.

He reached forward, his hand brushing over yours, his touch lingering as he took the book. He purposely brushed his thumb against the back of your hand, just enough for a spark to go through your veins.

He saw the way your breath hitched, and he smirked. This was too easy.

"Thank you, you've been a great help."

"One more thing before you go." You spoke, stopping him. His eyes moved up from the book to your own, and there he saw something that made him falter.

Something that made him freeze longer than he should have.

You had a fire behind those eyes. A flame that burned with a passion, a curiosity that threatened to eat him alive. A want, a need, to get into his head. To peel him open and look inside.

Your eyes weren't cold or empty like his. They were alive. Full of life.

"Books don’t impress women,” Your voice was low, a secret, something meant only for him to hear. “It’s the passion that opens their hearts. You have nothing if you can't show it."

"I think I've misjudged you." He spoke, his hand resting on the shelf above your head. He had no choice but to lean closer, and he felt the way your breath fanned across his skin.

"Oh?"

"Yes. You're a lot more than you appear, aren’t you?"

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

The question was left unanswered. He didn't give a response because, in truth, he didn't know.

He left that day not with his brother’s cure or even the thought of him. He left with three books.

Three books and the disease he believed to be immune to…

Hesitation.

[@numetalnerd2007] Since you asked, I figured this would automatically mean you were interested. At least I hope you were 💀

That being said, please be nice to me for this one since it’s my first time writing for Biney here (and I haven’t rewatched season 1 in forever), so his character probably isn’t 100% solid. It’s a work in progress 🙏✨

Also, for all my Joe Goldberg fans out there, did you catch the reference I made? I see a slight resemblance between Brian and Joe, so I wanted to sneak it in a little something. I think it’s the hair, honestly.

[super-marvel-dc]

Me to Bucky whenever I see or think about him

*Pictures from Pinterest*

[bambisnc]

historical fantasy au w vampire!karina. ₊˚.

historical fantasy au w vampire!karina in which your family, former elites who barely managed to regain their wealth and are now at a risk of going completely bankrupt, again, is desperately trying to find a woman affluent enough to be able to support their business to marry their son.

historical au w vampire!karina where of course the much talked about yu jimin, who honestly they didn't even consider a potential choice - what with her ethereal looks and that astute, insightful, intimidating aura which had led her to become an important member of the business scene at her young age.

historical fantasy au w vampire!karina who starts taking an interest in your family, in your brother especially. everyone is obviously ecstatic. but.. you've started noticing some rather strange things recently.. how your family has started looking paler, weaker by the day. how it's as if a heavy fog of weariness has settled over the household. how you feel like there are always a pair of eyes on you, even when you know there can't be any because why would anyone be looking at you? the main focus is on your brother, just as always.

historical fantasy au w vampire!karina where one day you rise from a deep slumber except you don't really remember falling asleep? only to find the entire manor completely empty. whispers and rustling of something that definitely isn't natural make you tremble slightly and then there's a loud knock that rings throughout the huge house, echoing eerily. you make your way down, desperately clutching a candelabra, as a source of light and if worst comes to worst, a weapon. you approach the towering door and open it gently so as to not make any noise, but the hinges creek as if they have a personal grudge against your ears.

historical fantasy au w vampire!karina who greets you with such a charming smile that you're left dazed, from her alluring figure from someone actually paying you their entire attention for the first time; her honey like voice saying, "could you let me in, darling?"

+ [m.list]

[zillygoose]

Oscar.Piastri.Shirtless.

GOODBYE MY BRAIN MALFUNCTIONED

Video: Live at Prema F2 Baku round 3

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: Just some things about the Ramshackle Prefect and Scarabia's vice-housewarden <3

Pairing: Jamil Viper × Yuu / Gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff mostly, a little bit of angst

TW: NA (for now, please let me know if I should add trigger warnings and for what ^^)

Jamil is no stranger to looks of awe and envy. A large part of it is owed to his status as a servant of the Asim family, as well as being Kalim's closest friend and retainer. But when the Prefect looks at him, they look at him in awe of his skills. Of how he expertly manages to tackle every obstacle Kalim unwittingly puts in his way. Of how his hands work quickly and efficiently in the kitchen as he stirs and mixes and makes food for the entirety of Scarabia. Of how he manages to give his best (despite the limitations set upon him by his status) in everything he does. For them, his status as a servant matters little; his hardwork is seen for what it is, and appreciated genuinely.

Jamil takes good care of his looks. As Kalim's retainer, he is required to look after his appearance, lest even the slightest of mistakes bring scrutiny upon the Asim family. The gold trinkets braided into his hair are a symbol of his status and servitude, of pride and resentment, yet he finds that resentment slowly die down as the Prefect plays with the accessories, batting at them with all the curiosity and wonder of a little kitten. His voicing of the fact only gets him a playful pout from them, which leaves him a little weak in the knees and a little short of breath. He thanks his lucky stars that they are both sitting on his bed, for surely his traitorous legs would have given away underneath him had he been standing.

Jamil stays up at night, quite a lot. His responsibilities do not end when the Asim heir finally falls asleep; for some reason, they seem to increase. Between his own studying, making rounds of the dorm so that no unruly dorm members (or housewardens) sneak off in the middle of the night, and countless other tasks, it is a miracle that he even gets time to rest his ever watchful eyes. Yet he smiles each time the Prefect stumbles over to him, half-asleep as they tug at his arms and mumble that he needs to sleep and that they are not taking no for an answer (not that he would say no to such an adorable request) and goes along with what they say.

Jamil is not one to bare his heart to just anybody. It takes time and dedication to peel back all his layers, his self doubt, to truly get him to speak about everything and anything that is bothering him. Yet sometimes, sometimes things are too difficult to talk about, and Jamil is too tired to think about them. So when the Prefect opens their arms, inviting him in their soft and safe embrace, he obliges with a soft murmur that is his thanks to them. They rub his back, and Jamil cannot stop himself from melting under their wordless yet tender care, holding onto his beloved Prefect with all the strength he can muster in that moment.

Jamil is very perceptive; very little misses his keen gaze. He sees how each incident the Prefect invariably gets roped into takes away a little part of them. The light in their eyes is a little dimmer each time they meet his, and their smiles a little more forced as they gently turn down his enquiries about their health. Each matter resolved, each overblot fought saps their energy and shakes their will, and Jamil knows it is only a matter of time before they fall down like a house of cards. He can see them working themself to the bone, running on fumes and sheer determination to save all those who had endeared themselves to the Prefect. So he insists, borderline begging even, to take care of them. Even for just one day, one hour. He just wants to be there for them, the way they always are for him.

Jamil shows his care in subtle ways in public. Carrying an extra lunch for the Prefect, sitting next to them in class, helping them with their studies, all these are ways he shows his favor to them. In private, he whispers declarations of love and devotion to them, reveling in how flustered they get even as his own heart thumps loudly inside his chest. He stumbles over his words when they carefully hold one of his braids up to their lips, leaving a kiss on the dark strands while maintaining eye contact with him; a silent declaration more powerful and potent than any of his teasing words.

[cerise-on-top]

Ghost with a Transmasc!S/O

I've been wanting to write this since last week! I'm not exactly happy with how it turned out, but maybe someone else can enjoy it as well!

When you’d approach him, all nervous and fumbling around, he’d just stay quiet. Sure, he’ll tell you that, no matter what, you can tell him anything and he won’t judge you, but he won’t pressure you into telling him what’s wrong either, even if he is pretty curious. If you need an hour until you can tell him, then he’ll wait that hour, reassuring you that it’s alright. Once you tell him that you’re a man, he would only be half surprised. He’s seen how you eye other men. While he may have thought that could have been attraction at first, once you come out to him, all the pieces fall into place. You weren’t in love with them, you were admiring them. However, he won’t judge you in the slightest, but will talk to you about what’s okay for you and what isn’t. Are you alright with him bringing up the past? Are you alright with him referring to certain body parts? If not, then he’ll keep that in mind. He’s never really been dysphoric before, so he doesn’t really know what you’re going through, but he tries his darndest to be supportive of you.

In fact, you coming out to him as a trans man makes him think about his own masculinity. What does it mean to him? How would he define it? What makes him feel masculine? Those are things he never really questioned before since he’s never seen himself as anything but a man, he always took it for granted. Although he may not say it, or even realize it at first, I think he might grow more comfortable in his own masculinity as a result.

But that aside, the first thing he does would be taking you to a clothes store to buy you some new clothes. He doesn’t really have an eye for aesthetics, and menswear being usually rather dark in color doesn’t help that much either, but he’ll pick out some shirts and pants for you that would fit you and that you might like. He’d also pick out some boxer shorts for you, the same brand that he uses since those are of a higher quality and will last a bit longer. If you’re extremely nervous about it, then he’ll even go to the cashier and pay for you. You don’t even need to pay him back. As long as he can help you out somehow, he’ll pay any price. Will also buy you some men’s body wash and deodorant. Probably the same he uses since he’s familiar with it.

If you’re alright with it, then he’ll break anyone’s nose who dares to misgender you. Especially on the days where you’re feeling a bit more dysphoric. Naturally, he won’t out you to people when there’s danger involved or when you tell him not to, but he’s not above getting into a fight for you. Especially when some transphobe decides they need to be mean to you for no reason. He’s a scary man, he can intimidate most people with his resting face alone, which he uses to his advantage.

If you can get the approval for your surgeries and testosterone the regular way, then he’ll congratulate you and celebrate with you even. However, if you were denied such, then he has acquaintances who can get you the permits. Nikolai is a good lad, he can get you just about anything. Ghost will fight for your clinical reports.

Once you start going on T, he’ll actually be overjoyed with you. As silly as it may sound, he wants to record you saying something, anything at all, so he can compare your voice now to how it develops later on. He’s pretty good with faces, he probably has a few pictures of you on his phone, even if they aren’t plenty, so he’s confident he’ll be able to tell you how you’re slowly growing into a body that is yours. If you let him, he’ll even administer your shots or rub the gel onto your shoulders. It actually makes him incredibly happy when you do, it’s a sign of trust to him. He gets to watch you be giddy, he gets to spend time with you, he gets to make you feel good. If it was up to him, then he’d hug you every time afterwards.

If you don’t know already, then he’ll teach you how to fight. He’ll teach you how to beat someone bloody and how to get up with a broken nose. Although he may go easy on you at first, he won’t forever. He’s a top notch soldier, so there’s a good chance you won’t ever be able to beat him properly, but you’ll learn. You’ll be able to defend yourself and you’ll have a pretty nice outlet for your anger as well. If you’re okay with it, then he’ll involve Soap in your fighting sessions as well. It’s absolutely animalistic when he joins, so you really don’t need to worry about any sort of etiquette when he’s around. It’s just beating each other into submission and then patching each other up.

If you don’t already know, then he’ll teach you how to ride a motorcycle. For some reason, motorcycles are very masculine to him, so he thinks it would make you feel good as well. One day, you’ll be riding one together, with him being the one to hold onto you. He’s looking forward to that day.

On the days where the dysphoria hits harder than usual, he’ll remind you that you’re a man. You’re the most perfect man in his life, and he wouldn’t want to have it any other way. Holds you close and reminds you that you will become your most ideal self, it just takes time. Either way, he won’t leave you, he won’t think of you as less than a man just because you had to put in the work to get to where you are right now. You’re his most ideal man, and he would go through all the torture he’s gone through once more just to be with you. He’ll support you through your highs and your lows. You’re a man. A darn good one at that, because not anyone can go through what you’re going through and still be standing. He admires you greatly for your strength and will remind you of that fact as well.

[yuugen-benni]

Even day and night, I always think of you <3

-

Summary: Kinda Sleeping and Morning with them

Characters: Ice Man, Atsushi, Akutagawa, Dazai, Katai, Sigma...

Listen ''Moonlight'' by Kali Uchis (Spotify) while reading

Fluff - Headcanon - GN! reader - BSD Men - Inspired by songs

Iceman is actually a BIG BEAR, seriously! He's warm, big, likes to sleep on top of you and is a heavy sleeper. Most of the time he gets up really early but he never goes to work until he knows that you are awake, safe, and have a cup of tea :)

Atsushi is quite shy about sharing a bed. He is so embarrassed to ask to be hugged! But who are you to complain??? He's basically a teddy bear he's so soft! But that's not all…it's also because of his tiger shape. I like to think that when Atsushi is fully relaxed his tiger form appears, so on rare mornings it's possible you might find an extremely docile tiger by your side;

Lying down and waking up next to your loved one, for Akutagawa, is the same feeling as winning the lottery. He feels happy even though he doesn't show it in being able to return home safely every day (thanks to his strength), and feel your warmth next to him. He doesn't like physical contact very much but always on cold nights he accepts being your natural heater. At dawn, many times he is not in bed but for some reason you always have the memory of cold lips lightly kissing your forehead;

Since joining the ADA, Dazai has become incredibly lazy and lacking in affection. So at night he holds you in his arms and kisses every part of your body until you complain. Because of his insomnia issues, he doesn't sleep much (which is also why you can find him staring at you at 5am);

As a Hacker, Katai usually stays up most of the night but the truth is: he can sleep anywhere and anytime AS LONG AS you are cuddling him (yes he is 100% spoon smaller). Sleeping next to him is always cozy, with soft blankets and pillows… the bad thing is that at dawn neither you nor Katai (who are incredibly tangled) want to get up;

Sigma often sleeps late at night because of his work at the Casino, but when he goes to bed exhausted he feels like a shelter kitten and snuggles in your arms until dawn (When he is all yours for the most hours);

[springdaydreams]

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Questioned Morals

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Ned Stark x younger!reader

Summary: Ned stark is fighting demons (himself and his thoughts)

Warnings: none

Questioned Morals (II)

The day was colder than usual, even the warm water running through Winterfell did not keep the castle warm, Ned was walking down towards Rickons room, his hands stiff from the chill and mind busy with the days work, as he slowly opens the door he sees Rickon in his bassinet peacefully asleep, Ned reaches down a hand on Rickons chest to see if the babe breathing as he feels the slow rise and fall of the babes chest he lets out an exhale, rickons birth had been an traumatic event he had lost the only woman he had loved and as much as he wanted to blame the babe he knew it wasn’t his fault, it had been nearly 18 moons since Catelyns death, it had taken a lot of effort from Ned to accept her death.

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On some nights he would reach out his hand on her side of the bed only to find it cold and empty, he would busy himself with work but also seemed to fail and distract him, he would spend sleepless nights as the only thing he saw was her when he closed his eyes, he visited the weirdwood tree everyday in hopes that she would listen to his prayers of yearning. After a very though 10 moons of grieving Ned had finally come to accept the tragic, the wound not fresh and raw anymore but the pain still very present. He was pulled out of his thoughts when Rickon started fussing, he took his hand of the babes chest and left the room to inform a wet nurse after notifying the wet nurse he made his way to his office. As he took a seat on his chair, he glanced to his left and saw the never ending scrolls and let out a sigh ‘so much and so little time’ he thought to himself, opening one of the scrolls and quickly roving over the contents he prepares his quill to sign when there is a knock on the door, without sparing a look at the door he lets out a gruff “come in” as the door opens he glances at the entrant and once he sees who it is he puts down the quill and paper and stands up, it is your father a close companion of Ned Stark since his boyhood he expected your father to close the door but held it out, this caught Ned by surprise and suddenly you come walking in all bundled up in furs to protect yourself from the cold, a breath gets caught in his throat at the sight of you “lord stark” your father and you bow your heads in respect to your liege lord “why are you standing come sit” comes out a hurried response from Ned. You and your father sit down and your father turns towards you “this is my eldest child” as your father says your name Ned gains the courage to properly look at you and when he does his eyes connect with yours and his mouth goes dry, he suddenly starts to run hot even if its the middle of winter, his spines becomes stiff, his toes curling in his boots out of nervousness, he is gripping the arm of his chair till his knuckles turn white the sheer strength crushing a small bit of wood from the chair and he becomes all too aware of his unkempt appearance. He tries to focus on your father’s words, he’s trying he’s trying his best to not look at you for if he did there is no guarantee that he wouldn’t get lost in your bewitching eyes. As you are your father leave he lets out a big exhale of relief, his rigid posture slackens and he loosens the grip on the arms of the chair and looks at his hands, they’re from red from the tight grip, he notes a few scratches from the wood and looks at the damage done to the chair, he decides to worry himself with that later as he takes another scroll from the big pile, as the day goes on Ned and Ned gets busier his mind is distracted from any thoughts of you. As night rolls the hour of the owl approaching Ned decides to retire to his chambers, on his way to his chambers he makes a stop at all the children’s chambers and when his chamber doors close his shoulders slump the stress and agitation of the day slowly rolling off and the warmth of the room enveloping him, he changes himself in his nightclothes and lays down on his bed, the warm furs a comforting weight on top of him as he closes his eyes, your image suddenly flashes in front him, he immediately opens his eyes and blinks a few times, when he closes his eyes again your image shows up again soon, his mind is filled with thoughts of you, your beguiling eyes, your beautiful hair and your oh so soft lips that he would love to kis- “she is your close companions daughter you fool, you cannot have such tainted thoughts about her”he remembers your father saying something along the lines of how you’re only a few years older than Robb. “you cannot be lusting after someone of that age, someone that should be marrying a man like Robb and not you” his thoughts spiral and soon he starts to question his morality, but can you blame a man? he was trying his best not to think of you as sleep slowly pulled him in.

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(i will be doing a part two, as always constructive criticism is welcome!)

pearl divider from- @pommecita

[theghooligan]

bloodraven being a tree and giving his great great grandfather sleep paralysis demons all season courtesy of harrenhall and alys:

[supercap2319]

"You're going to help me find someone, Y/N." Hope stated. She sounded so sure of her request, that it would be pointless for Y/N to argue, but he did it anyways.

"And why the hell would I ever want to help you? After what you did to Josie and Lizzie's father. What you did to Silva. Forget it, Hope." Y/N said.

Hope smiled. "I'll repeat myself. You're going to help me... Or I kill live-action Ken doll."

They both knew what she was referring to. To Sky. If Y/N refused to help her, she'd take it out on Sky. Immediately, Y/N felt this wave of anger, fear, and nausea. "You stay the fuck away from him, Hope." Y/N's eyes flashed light blue as ice forms a pair of fairy wings on his back.

Hope's smile widened. "No need to show off, Y/N. I know you're powerful. Which why this is going to be so much fun. Causing so much chaos and pain together."

"Who are you looking for anyways?"

"Landon's brother. Clarke."

[greenandsorrow]

Petyr Baelish = The smallest man who ever lived

You can dislike Taylor Swift but this song fits him perfectly for an "x reader" fic. (Yes, I'll eventually write for him as well and yes my drafts are a scary place.)

[luxthestrange]

G.I Incorrect Quotes#3 Babysitting

Kaeya*Watching over Diona and Paimon playing when he realized something*...Oh my archons...

-In the kitchen-

Kaeya*Coming in with a blank stare*Darling i just realized something...i had a bad childhood

Y/n*Taste tasting what their cooking and not even looking at him*Yeaaah i know

Kaeya:What you mean you know?

Y/n:Look at you!*spares him a knowing raised brow glance*

Kaeya:What you mean "Look at me?"...*looks down at self like a confused puppy*

Y/n: Look at how you stand*Motions all of him* People who had good childhoods dont stand like THAT

[revasserium]

I'm being a rebel and requesting Ikesen Masamune and barefoot 💜

send me one and a character u__u

hurricane (prompt: barefoot)

masamune; 1,813; fluff and... that's it; @violettduchess is quite possibly one of the only ppl who can get me to write for a fandom that i had no plans in joining BUT HERE I AM FOLKS. here the fuCK i am.

he has always been a hurricane.

there are moments in a person’s life big enough for a single choice to put them on a completely different path, and then — there are those moments, much smaller moments, adding up to that one, bigger, monumental, life-changing moment. this is one of the latter.

the moon is heaven bright, swinging low in a full-bellied sky, and insomnia had plagued you till you’d come into the inner gardens for refuge. at least here, it felt like you were stuck between the pages of a waking dream. so… sleep-adjacent, right? right.

you swing your feet off the edge of the pristinely mopped wooden walkways, your sketchbook propped in your lap, a charcoal pencil gliding over the smooth, moon-bleached pages. you let your hand take the drawing where it wants, and these days, there’s only one place that your hand (and, subsequently the rest of your mind and body) seems to want to go.

masamune.

he appears as fish-tail flicks of your wrist bring him to life on the pages, each sketch fluid and overlapping with the next, almost like the depiction of dance — the crinkle at the edge of his eye, the curve of his hand as he rests it on the hilt of one of his blades, the strong, graceful slope of his shoulders and back, the crescent moon curve of his lips as he smiles, ever light, ever teasing, in your direction.

“ah… is that what i look like?”

his voice makes you jump, and even now after all this time, it sets your heart racing in your chest as you whirl around to find his nose inches from yours, that self-same smile hinged across his damnably gorgeous lips.

“w-wh — why aren’t you sleeping?” is your stumbling, cobbled together response to being jump-scared in the middle of his castle pagoda, but it’s the best you could come up with. he only leans back, chuckling, his arms tucked into the long thin sleeves of his kosode as he casts his eye up towards the full moon, his expression for once devoid if mischief or calculation. it’s strange, seeing him like this, so still and so quiet, and something about it makes you go still too, wondering if this is what its like to be caught in the eye of the storm, where the quiet is only ever momentary and destruction dances just beyond where your mind can reach.

“i could ask the same of you, kitten. so tell me… why aren’t you sleeping?” he grins as he joins you, propping one arm on a bent knee, watching as you gather yourself, palms pressing to the pages of your sketchbook.

“i… i couldn’t sleep.” you look down at your own knees, and it strikes you then that your feet are still bare. you can’t help glancing at masamune, and sure enough, his feet are bare too. no wonder i hadn’t heard him coming.

but something about this sets you off, the sight of his bare feet next to yours, and even though it shouldn’t be so tantalizing a thing — the flicker of bare flesh, the hint of skin unseen— you feel like one of those ancient victorian maidens, blushing at the sight of bare ankles.

you can’t help it; you start to laugh.

and masamune, sitting beside you, finds himself transfixed, held still by the sound of your laughter, pouring from you like rainwater from a stream. so clear and beautiful it sets his body arrack with shivers.

“what?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow, “is there something on my face?”

at this, you pause, stifling your giggles with a hand pressed to your lips, and you look at him. your eyes meet, and not for the first time, you feel yourself falling into them — into him. even like this, his one blue eye is something of a miracle, a thing of celestial majesty. it wasn’t until you’d met him that you’d realized what blue eyes look like up close — up close, they are the shattered light of a millions stars, fractured and reformed and singing through a universe of endless dark to end up here, shining out from him and landing on you, and god — he’s looking at you like all those million, billion years of starlight had traveled the expanse of every galaxy just to look at you.

just to see you like he does now.

“no… there isn’t,” you say, whisper, more like, reaching out a hand to trace your thumb over the lid of his closed eye. he doesn’t push you away. instead, he leans in closer.

“then, what’s so funny, kitten?”

you simply shake your head, trying to swallow down your belly-full of laughter, your mind showing you a strobe-quick flash-forward of you trying to explain the concept of foot kinks and websites that cater to such 500 years in the future before deciding — no. alas, tonight is not the night you try to educate one date masamune on the intricacies of body part kinks. though no doubt he’d take it in stride. no — that thought too, you tamp down before you’ve the mind to follow it down into a deep, dark rabbit hole from whence you might never recover or be recovered.

“tell me, please…” he grins, a grin that is simultaneously plea and pleasure, and in it, you can hear the knife-sharp promise of desire, “i’d like to know if something other than me has the power to make you laugh so much.”

“it’s just —” you bite your lips, fighting for the words, “we’re both barefoot.”

he blinks. and you can tell that whatever he was expecting the answer to be, this is clearly not it.

you track the flitter of emotions as they dance in quicksilver steps across the planes of his face — surprise, confusion, amusement, all painted porcelain perfect on the dark of his brows, the faint twitch of his lips. finally, he settles on a sorted of muted bemusement as he cocks his head at you.

“and… do people of your time tend to sleep with socks on?”

“no, it’s just…” you blush again, unable to help yourself.

“just what?” his voice is light, and he is still.

you swallow, hard,

“just… it’s weird — i mean — it’s not like i haven’t seen anyone else barefoot before just… this was — you’re just — and i —” you trip over your words in a hurry and end up tumbling through into incoherence so fast all you can do to styme the flood is to clamp your mouth shut and pray.

oh god please… tell me this is a bad dream.

but when you open your eyes, masamune is still there, watching you with that singular eye of his, expression inscrutable. and still, he doesn’t move.

“so…” and finally, finally, the stillness breaks — he cracks it open like an eggshell, stretching himself out as he leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, lengthening till he’s splayed out over the gleaming wooden boards of the walkway, his face bathed in ghostly moonlight.

“i’m not the first man you’ve seen barefoot, hm? that is a problem.”

your mouth drops open and for a moment, you gape at him wordless and fish-like, and he laughs as he turns to look at you.

“tell me his name — i’ll have his head in the morning,” he says, in a voice so casually serious that for a moment you think he might actually mean it.

“masamune!”

and then, he’s laughing too, a big, bright, uproarious thing that shakes his entire body like the foundations of the earth. it is deep and rich and lovely, warm and sweet as sun-kissed honey. you let yourself be swept up in his laughter, dropping into silent giggles, and then something louder, letting your shoulder bump into his, your bodies finally touching and then —

there’s a flurry of clothing, a shifting of weights. you find yourself pulled into him, tipping towards him like inevitability.

your sketchbook lays forgotten on the walkway next to you as masamune holds you close against his chest.

“ah… i really don’t like that…”

an entourage of tingles frissons through your body at his words.

“don’t like what?”

“the fact that you’ve seen someone else barefoot before. it bugs me.”

you peer up at him, lifting your head ever so slightly from his chest. he’s looking at you, and the sunrise-blue of his eyes are shadowed with something darker now, something decidedly less innocent than just the thought of bare feet.

“then… what will you do about it?” you ask, feeling the heat of his body, the solidness of him, the rightness of you between his arms.

“hm… are you teasing me, kitten?” his voice is gravel and earthquake and you’re emboldened by the sound, by the way his pupil dilates, the black hole at the center of every galaxy — gravity made solid, made real.

“yes,” you breathe, leaning up like a dare and he meets you gloriously, his lips hard and pressing and soft and pulling. there’s a fire unspooling at the base of your spine, stoked by the heat and truth of him, so close, too close — you break apart gasping. he grins, lynx-like and wolfish as he grazes his teeth along the column of your throat.

“good,” he says, sighing into your flesh as you arch up into him, your fingers curling into his hair as he flips the pair of you over. he pulls you beneath him and he is storm and thunder, he is rain and wonder — he is water to your desert skies, the sunlit days to all your moonless nights.

and as he makes to rend you into pleasure, into nothing more than ache and belonging, he pulls back with a bone-deep growl, a sliver of hesitation, of self-preservation.

“are… are you sure you want this?” that you want me? the echo is not lost on you.

and it’s not the first time he’s asked you the question, and you have a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last. but you reply as you had, once upon a time, in a distant, sun-drenched afternoon, when you’d been telling him about one of your favorite poems from your time.

you smile, tug him down for a kiss.

“yes,” you say, like you’d done on that long-ago afternoon, “i want you — i want this, masamune. because… I love you.”

“i will love you when you are a still day… i will love you when you are a hurricane.”